


Newt’s Cure

by ava_kay



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, New right arm, Newt Lives, Paradise, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-The Death Cure, Teresa Lives, The Death Cure, The Right Arm, death cure, death cure fix-it, leader newt, maybe some ships, post TDC movie, tdc, tdc spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-10 22:50:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13511382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_kay/pseuds/ava_kay
Summary: *contains MAJOR spoilers for The Death Cure movie!!!*What if Newt’s fatal wound was not so fatal after all? A boy is given a second chance to live, to lead, and maybe even save everyone in the process.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> this fic contains a TON of spoilers for TDC so if you haven’t seen it yet, please don’t read this til after! also this was based off a theory made up by @needednewt (on twitter), me, and the rest of the newt defense squad group chat. enjoy!

 

Newt begins his new life weakly opening his eyes, seeing nothing but darkness. He’s afraid, only one thought going through his mind. _I’m a crank_.

    Then the pain. Indescribable pain bursts through his chest and shoulders up into head when he tries to sit up, now realizing he’s lying down.

    He lets out a strangled cry, giving up and lying back down, the surface under him cold and hard.

    Then, the memories.

    He had stabbed himself. With Thomas, his best friend, he’d driven the knife into his own chest. He’d turned into a crank and tried to stab Tommy too. Did he? Yes, he did. And if he was right…

    “Stay still, will ya?” A voice sounds close to Newt. Was he still where Thomas had left him?

    Newt tries to speak, but it turns into a cough, every intake of breath sending more shots of pain through him.

    “Drive!” Another voice.

    By now, he has to figure he’s not dead. Where he only saw darkness before, he can make out shadows. He doesn’t move his head, but he can see the ceiling and the glint of something shining on metal.

    When the place he’s in starts moving, he puts together that he’s in some sort of vehicle. Most likely a truck, it seems spacious and the yelling is causing an echo. Normally he would be scared, but the sense of fear is overpowered by his confusion.

    Carefully, he raises a hand to his chest and finds what he was looking for. The knife. It’s still in there. Buried into him.

    Next, he reaches up to touch his face, wincing when he feels the veins popping out of his skin, but feeling something strange. They seem to be… shrinking. Easing up by the second, especially when he relaxes.

    If he was a crank, he couldn’t be thinking logically right now. He’d be up and tearing out throats and eyes. Had what he’d done really worked?

    “I said _stay still_ ,” the first voice speaks again. It’s a man’s voice, gravelly and annoyed sounding.

    Newt puts his hand down, struggling to do so with every muscle in his body aching. There’s a long list of questions in his mind but he decides on these.

    “Who are you, and why did you take me?” He manages weakly, his voice getting caught in his throat making it sound like he swallowed sandpaper.

    “Shut your trap and don’t move or say another word. You’re lucky to be alive,” the man says.

    Newt would roll his eyes if his head didn’t feel like it’s been bashed in with a hammer. He’s annoyed that he didn’t get a proper answer, but not so annoyed that he wants to kill someone or pull his hair out. A good sign.

    He’s forced to ride in still silence for another painful twenty minutes or so, before the vehicle stops.

    “Open the door and move him slow,” he hears.

    Suddenly a thought pops into his head. A very bad thought.

    WCKD.

    “Sorry, kid,” a new voice.

    Before he can protest there’s a stab in his neck and the world goes dark.

 

  
The second time he wakes up, more is happening around him. Beeping, shouting, chaos. But he’s lying down, eyes still closed and trying to take inventory of himself and his surroundings.

    The pain in his chest is still there but better, and his headache has reduced to a dull throbbing. More good signs. But if this turns out to be WCKD, then he would rather have died right there on the pavement, crank or not.

    Finally he opens his eyes, squinting into the immediate light that hits him. He first looks down to see that the knife is no longer in his chest, and his shirt is gone, leaving him cold only in the WCKD pants he was wearing when he…

    The place where the knife once was, is now a stitched up, veiny mess with a bloody bandage wrapped around. The sight of his chest makes Newt feel sick, but it’s not as bad as it’d looked before. Looking at his arm, there’s a needle in it attached to something he’s considering ripping out before he decides to finish examining his situation.

    He’s on a bed, and when he looks up, he sees he’s not the only one. There’s a lot of people on beds, some of them looking like burn victims, some like they’ve been shot. Not many are awake, but the ones that are are talking to one of various people walking around the room tending to people.

    There’s something off about the feel of it, medical equipment on shiny metal tables and blinding lights overhead, but the room looks like an old large shed. It’s dreary and rundown, made seemingly of all wood. And the smell is terrible, a mix of bleach, mold, and what can best be described as _sick_.

    It doesn’t look like WCKD. But you can’t be too careful with them, can you? For all he knows he’s back with them. Or worse, in another trial.

    “He’s awake,” someone says. Newt turns to his right to see a kind looking lady, maybe in her forties, with short silver hair coming to his side, crouching down to look at him. “Don’t move too much, sweetheart. You’ve done quite a number on yourself.”

    “Where am I?” Newt finds his voice easier this time, still hoarse but above a whisper.

    The lady takes a moment to respond, checking Newt’s IV and sighing before she speaks, his anticipation building with each second.

    “Welcome to the new Right Arm.”


	2. two

“How’s the boy?” Newt’s chest tightens when he hears the familiar voice. He hasn’t heard it since the group of them were getting ready to go into the Last City, and the thought of how things had been only three days ago pains him.

    Newt’s eyes remain closed as he waits for the response.

    “He’s doing extremely well. Eyes are completely normal and the veins are going down,” the silver-haired lady, who he’d come to learn was called Susan, replies. There’s suddenly a hand on his forehead, Newt hoping his flinch isn’t noticeable. He’s not in the mood to answer questions right now. “Fever’s gone down too.”

    “Good, get him back to normal soon so I can talk to him. You heard the girl, Thomas has the cure, and I have a feeling this one knows where he might be,” he says, anxiety rising in Newt.

    The realization hits him that he might have to escape this place sooner than later. It’s been a day and nothing’s happened, but he’s already vowed to get out and find Thomas and the rest of his friends as soon as he can.

    “‘Course, Lawrence,” Susan says. Newt listens for the sound of footprints walking away before he opens his eyes a crack, watching Lawrence turn a corner out of the room.

    If these people are after Thomas for the cure, Newt doesn’t want to know what they’ll do to him to get it. They’ll need his blood, so telling them where he is is not an option. Besides that, Newt doesn’t have a clue where he could be.

    “You can open your eyes now, you know. He’s gone. Besides, you need to eat,” Susan says softly. Newt considers continuing his act, but after a few seconds he gives in and opens his eyes.

    He looks down at the new clothes he was given. He’s been in and out of sleep for a day, so they must have put these on him at some point, the thought creeping Newt out. They’re a size too big, a large white shirt and blue sweatpants.

    “We stole ‘em from WCKD,” Susan says, holding a cup in front of him. “Sit up a little for me.”

    Newt shifts enough for his head and neck to be upwards, but it sends a wave of pain through him, making him wince. If he’s gonna escape, he’s gonna need to get over that. He can barely move, let alone make a run for it.

    She goes to move the cup to his mouth and he turns his head away, looking at her.

    “What is it?” Newt asks.

    “Water,” she laughs, shaking her head. “You can trust us, Newt. We’re on the same side. If we meant you any harm, you wouldn’t be here.”

    _Heard that one before_ , Newt thinks to himself. He drinks the water, Susan having to pour it into his mouth. After that, he’s given another cup, this one with some kind of soup in it.

    “Can I do it?” Newt asks, seeing her go to feed it to him.

    Her face is troubled, looking at him for a moment. “You shouldn’t be putting any strain on yourself, sweetheart,” she says.

    “I won’t be,” Newt says. He wants to do _something_ for himself. When he broke his leg in the glade, the feeling of helplessness was almost as bad as the overwhelming emptiness. Sitting pathetically in the bed now is all too familiar to him.

    She sighs. “Fine,” she says, carefully handing him the cup and a spoon. “But if you’re in pain, I’m taking it right back.”

    He wants to trust her. She hasn’t asked him any questions, and she seems to make his well-being a priority. But at this point too many people have betrayed him, and he won’t fall for it again.

    Newt takes the spoon and shakily feeds himself the soup, trying not to show any visible signs that he’s in any sort of discomfort. It’s difficult, trying to keep a straight face while feeling a soreness spread throughout his whole body.

    If she notices she doesn’t say anything, letting him slowly make his way through the meal. It doesn’t taste terrible, in fact, it reminds him of something Frypan would have made.

    Fry… is he even alive? The thought occurs to him that _none_ of them may be alive. And if they are, they all think he’s dead. Another thought, if he’s still kicking, did Thomas read the note? Newt had written it thinking it would be his last. His last note, his last pep talk. The last thing his best friend would hear from him.

    He’s no longer hungry, giving Susan the cup and spoon back and lying back down. He may not be in the mood to answer questions, but now he’s in the mood to ask.

    “What do you know about me?” Newt asks, looking up at her.

    “Not a lot. I know you went into the city to find your friend, and I know you’ve been cured of the virus,” Susan says.

    “Why’d you take me?” Newt asks, the question having bothered him since he’d woken up.

    “You got lucky, one of our people passed you and recognized you. Said you were twitchin’,” Susan says. She doesn’t seem annoyed by his questions, but he wouldn’t care much either way.

    “Do you know if… Do you know who died?” Newt asks.

    “A lot of people, kid. But of your friends, I haven’t got a clue. We haven’t found any of their bodies,” Susan says. “But the city’s in pieces now, so finding them would be impossible. If they’re out there, they’re long gone.”

    The answer doesn’t comfort Newt much, but at least none of them have been confirmed dead. He can only hope the group of them went back with Brenda and got somewhere safe. Somewhere they can be happy.

    Newt wants to ask her what they want from him exactly. Is he their prisoner? If he tried to leave, would they let him? He’d gone along with these people because Gally was, but now he’s not sure what they stand for. The new Right Arm. What gives them the right to use the name?

    “Why do you call yourselves the new Right Arm?” Newt asks.

    “Our group and the Right Arm have both taken a lot of losses. So, we’ve… merged. Makes things simpler,” she says.

    “Who do you have from the Right Arm?” Newt asks.

    “A few people, not many. The most important one is you,” she says, a small smile on her face. Newt furrows his eyebrows in confusion, shaking his head.

    “I’m… I’m technically not the Right Arm,” Newt says.

    “Really? That’s not what I heard. I heard you’ve been a part of it for months now. _I_ used to be a part of it, actually. A group of us went out looking for WCKD ourselves and wound up with Lawrence. Took us years of planning, but the mission was finally accomplished the other day thanks to you kids,” she says.

    “What was the mission, exactly? Stop WCKD?” Newt asks. Suddenly something comes back to him. Images, more than a full memory. Flashes of fire, guns and explosions.

    “More or less, but we did something even better,” Susan says.

    “What?” Newt asks, fearing the answer.

    “We overran the city,” she replies, her smile deepening. Newt is only sure of one thing right now.

    He is not safe here. 


End file.
